Sepulchral Orchestra of Illusions
by Vanrei Hellionist
Summary: A soldier crossed his final turning point. He collapsed in the middle of a meaningless war. His mind wandering around the tasteless world he was born in. But the hope in his heart, using its frail spirit, wished for a dead girl and the Border of Illusion


Sepulchral Orchestra of Illusions

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><p>The distorted square of land that was buried deep into my face. My body can no longer feel the hot, vibrant stimuli of my surroundings. The scorching Sun did not felt the way as it was supposed to feel – but then, a dreadful sensation of an icy thick coldness engulfed my senses like a black cloud of ill omen over a faithless patch of land. With all of my willpower, I turned my body to against my back. The raging light from that great big ball of fire looked so beautiful.<p>

So, very, amazingly, indescribably, authentically – beautiful.

I felt reborn just by looking at it. It's as if the light was singing a lullaby to my crying soul, and that it felt comfort in the visual lullaby that the Sun was singing.

What can you conclude when you feel cold when it is hot, feel pleasure when in pain, and feel alive at the time of death? The answer came up on an obvious path. I didn't have much time – I will die.

To die alone – being the only breathing body in a sea of horrified corpses in the middle of an unnamed desert. Surrounded by a bed of empty shells, coated with disfigured, scorched or dismembered body parts that once belonged to someone, but now, drift about endlessly in a personification of the aftermath of war.

A shuffled voice barked into a radio transmitter. Screaming dementedly into the intercom, the person requested for immediate assistance in a nearby city. As he went on, he started to sound less and less intelligible and the only words I could hear was 'Save my family'. The transmission ended two seconds after that sentence. The civilian that was shouting – I assumed he had died to a fatal bomb or shot by a foreign tank.

More and more voices came from different transmitters, and all of them were shouting and screaming helplessly for assistance and comfort – shouting to help them in a foreign city– screaming not to get killed– whispering so softly into the device for someone to talk to. But all of them fell silent when the ill-news of static locked them away for good.

My colleagues, their hollow stares – unmatched dirge danced in their line of vision. Their spirit – I can still feel them after they've left, taunting me to do better – kicking me at the back of my head to stand up and continue living. To grab my AK-47 and repair the wires of my defunct bomb. To ignore my physical shortcomings and stagger my way to the enemy base. To kill brethren I never knew – to slay them viciously with the tip of jagged army knife and pulverize skulls and nervous systems with my Single Action Army. To finally end this war and sprout a massive will to do better for mankind and beyond.

Perhaps this is what they call delusions of grandeur. Perhaps this is what most of the dead wanted. I am sorry for not being able to accomplish that feat.

I just can't. Not here, not now. My body's full of holes. I can't even feel my legs.

In the distance, the roar of dysfunctional tanks rung into my head, but after quite some time, the sound becomes bass-like, as if somebody was playing a trick on me by covering my ears. Maybe that's Death covering them for me – She does not want me to hear the woe that I had been hearing all this time – the potential of sepulchral voices singing in chaotic harmony when a bomb, bullet or Molotov decided to act. They were poison to hear, but it was nonetheless a forced orchestra of mechanic and human sadness that I had to bear. Screams of trauma and the death rattle of enemies and civilians alike – they were all the parts and parcel of war.

The attention to detail was great – it was truly an artistic dream of what would imagine after blood had been spilled in a great, epic war. And in that dream I was a victim. A victim of a horrible crime that sparked a worldwide madness.

This world is too old and bleeding.

Humans had ravaged the last remains of sanity they had. This is as far as they go.

_A doomed world that toyed with its own apocalypse.  
><em>

But then, that does not matter now...

_A soldier left for dead in a war-ridden desert.  
><em>

...What matters is...

_A girl in the border of illusions.  
><em>

... I will soon break the chains that held my existence.

_A border of life.  
><em>

As the Sun sulked below the horizon, Death came early on that particular evening. I giggled as she kissed me on the cheek and offered her cold hands towards my scorched fingers.

_A border of death.  
><em>

I'm about to be welcomed...

_A land of illusions, erased from history.  
><em>

...into a world only dreamt.

_A dead soldier on the border of life and death. The land of illusions, erased from history, welcome him.  
><em>

Before I left this world, I asked Death for a minute. Her expressionless face was in questions. I begged of her to let me at least do a final act that still showed that I was human in this war– to kiss the picture of the girl that I had always loved that was kept in the right pocket of my Kevlar-coated shirt. She gave that 'Oh, you' expression. She signalled her answer with her fingers. She gave me two.

_Bounded by the red strings of fate, they will meet once more, under unusual circumstances._

I took it out after much difficulty. My hot tears raining down like bullets on a cold day in the desert on April 24th, 2011, but, her surprisingly warm eyes stared at me with much thought and indulgence. Her smile made me the process of leaving this world much easier. The second I saw her picture, I kissed it sincerely, leaving the last essence of my precious life embedded on that copy.

My tears suddenly froze in the middle of the desert. My vision faded to black. My bloodied frame unable to even twitch. Death had already saddled me onto her back. It was time.

My name was Reeve. I am the citizen of an unknown country. I have no friends, no family. I was born as an orphan, lived my life as an ordinary civilian and died as an impromptu soldier.

The girl in the picture.

Her name was... her name was... Yu...Yu...

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><p>"<em>What do you think Gensokyo will be like?"<em>

"_I think it would be a wonderful place for us to live in."_

"_Reeve..."_

"_Yes?"_

"_After we die, how about we live in Gensokyo?"_

"_That would be just great. I'll make sure Reimu and Marisa will be waiting for us with teas and snacks. Yukari would greet us happily as we enter Gensokyo! Suika would play with us and we'll drink sake after we've learned how to fight using danmaku! Then, we'll go take a tour all over Gensokyo with Aya being our guide!"_

"_Heehee~ That's so wonderful! Promise me that okay?"_

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><p>AN: A/N: Hey, name's Van. Here's a Touhou fic I've been wanting to do in a while but didn't have to finish it. Luckily, I just had enough time to finish it! So I hope you've enjoyed its very first chapter! Forgive me for the slow start! It'll get better, I promise! Can you guess who is the girl in question?


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